Nan Sherwood's Winter Holidays eBook

The express messenger had received a signal from Mr.
Carter, and now said:

“I tell you what it is, Mr. Bulson; I can’t
help you out. The matter is entirely out of my
hands. Just before you came in the conductor levied
on all my goods in transit and claimed the right to
seize your case of milk for the benefit of the passengers.
You’ll have to send in your claim to our company,
and it will get the value of the milk from the railroad
people for you. That’s all there is to it.”

“Go ’way,” ordered a burly brakeman,
pushing him aside, and stooping to help pull off the
cover of the box. “You ought to be taken
out and dumped in the snow, mister. It would
cool you off.”

“Come, Bess!” urged Nan, anxiously.
“Let’s go away. We’ll get the
milk for the puppy afterward. I’m afraid
there will be trouble.”

“I wish they would throw that mean old Bulson
into the snow. He deserves it,” Bess returned
bitterly.

“Do let’s go away,” Nan said again,
as the men’s voices became louder.

“Oh, dear me! you never will let me have any
fun,” declared Bess, her eyes sparkling.

“Do you call a public brawl, fun?” demanded
Nan, as they opened the door of the car.

At that moment, just as the two girls with the squirming,
shivering puppy, were about to step out upon the platform
between the baggage cars, they were startled by a
muffled shout from overhead.

“Oh! what’s that?” gasped Bess.

Both she and Nan looked up. Lumps of snow from
the roof of the tunnel began to fall. Then came
a louder shout and a pair of booted legs burst through
the roof.

“Goodness—­gracious—­me!”
cried Nan. “Here comes—­”

“An angelic visitor!” squealed Bess.

With another shout of alarm, a snow-covered figure
plunged to the platform. The cowhide boots landed
first, so the man remained upright. He carried
a can in each hand, and all around the covers was frozen
milk, betraying at once the nature of his load.

He was a slim, wiry man, in a ragged greatcoat, a
cap pulled over his ears, sparkling, little, light-blue
eyes of phenomenal shrewdness, and a sparse, strawcolor
chin-whisker.

“Wall, I vow to Maria!” gasped the newcomer.
“What’s this I’ve dropped into?”